Across the Highlands
by Silver Spider
Summary: “God's work?” a slender brow rose over dark eyes. “Is that what you told the Grigori when you massacred their children?” Part III is up.
1. Part I

**_Author's Note:_** So this is in fact a prequel to the Fallen series. It takes place during the time that Exodus, described in the Bible, took place. You'll see what I mean in the first part. Here I'm delving into three angelic characters: Camael, Verchiel, and Lucifer. Now all three characters may appear slightly different than they are in the series. Keep in mind that they've all had a few thousand years to grow and learn since the time that this fic takes place. This fic has three parts, but the overall title comes from a Kamelot song with the same name. I'll post the appropriate lyrics at the end of each part because I feel they really fit the story. I'll also upload the whole song in the end. That's it for now. Enjoy.

**Across the Highlands**

**By: Silver Spider**

**Part I**

Egypt burned. The mighty empire of Ramses II was going down in a glorious flood of flames. The harsh desert winds were slowly but surely eating away at the mortar of statues and obelisks. Mortar pored with the blood of slaves.

A lone cloaked figure stood on the tallest dune overlooking the capital palace. He wasn't sure exactly what has drawn him to this particular place. He'd been quite content exploring Greece when a sudden feeling tugged at him. The kingdom teemed with Divine energies, and after so much time alone, he longed for the slightest scent of home. Having made his decision, he descended the sandy slope and entered the capital city.

To say that suffering was everywhere would have been a gross understatement. The once proud and prosperous empire was on its knees. People poured out into the streets, some weeping for their lost crop and cattle, others praying to their idols in the temples. Men raised their voices to Pharaoh, beginning their ruler to relieve their misery, but the palace was deadly silent. Despair and anguish were thick in the air.

The wander left the capital behind and moved beyond its borders into the quarters of the Hebrew slaves. The feeling was different here. Yes, there was fear and anxiety, but there was also something else; wonder, exhilaration, hope. The small simple houses certainly lacked the wealth and grandeur of the Egyptian homes, but it was clear to the stranger just what kind of people lived within their walls. They were quite a curiosity to him, these people who held such high favor with the Almighty. He saw no difference from the many others he'd encountered on his long journey, and yet there was something about them.

His own appearance was neither Egyptian nor Hebrew, having not yet acquired the bronze desert tone to his skin, therefore most he passed took him for nothing more than a travailing foreigner and left him alone. Even if they found him an oddity, the people of Egypt – both slave and free men alike – had bigger things to worry about.

As he entered the slave quarters, the first thing that struck him was were the deserted streets and deafening silence. There was not a single person outside, no children playing or women chattering. His attention was then drawn to the houses, or rather the lid posts of the doorways. They were marked with blood. If there was any doubt in his mind that something was afoot, it was immediately dispelled. He looked up at the night sky for any ominous signs, but saw nothing as of yet. The proverbial calm before the storm, he mused.

The silence was broken by the sound of light yet quick footsteps across the stone street, and he turned just in time to see a woman hurry towards a well with a bucket in her hands. She was definitely not young, as was apparent by her gray hair and deep lines, but she was strong, in both body and will, with an air of defiance around her. Here was someone who would not simply accept a life of servitude. She took a quick survey of her surroundings, then tied the bucket onto the rope and lowered it into the well. It hit the bottom with a splash, and she began to pull it back up but seemed to quickly realize that it was too heavy for her as the rope began to slip in her hands.

"Allow me to assist you," the man offered, stepping into the dim light given off by the various torches. In a few strides he was at the well and took a firm grip on the rope. Once the bucket was safely set on the edge of the well, the woman brushed back her silver tendrils and gave him an assessing glance from head to toe.

"Thank you," she said, "but if I may ask, who are you?"

He opened his mouth to reply when a man emerged from the same house she'd left. At first the traveler thought he was her husband, but the similarity in their features suggested that they were most likely siblings.

"Miriam," the man called to her, his voice slightly hoarse but still quite firm. "Is this the way we treat those who help us? With suspicion?"

"I haven't been a child in a long time, Aaron," the she replied harshly, setting the bucket of water against her hip. "Do not presume to treat me as such." But to the stranger she said, "My thanks again, sir."

With a bow of her head and a glare at her brother, she retreated back into the house, leaving the traveler alone with the older man, who shook his head in mild annoyance.

"Please forgive my sister," he repeated her apology, confirming the travelers suspicion that they were indeed kin. "But these are troubled times, and we cannot be too careful. Still, I would not have that stand in the way of good manors. Please accept my hospitality and dine with us."

"Thank you," the stranger bowed his head, "but I would not like to intrude on your family's time."

"I insist," Aaron smiled. "It is customary among my people. Besides, it would be best or you not to be outside tonight. I'm afraid you have chosen a poor time to visit Egypt."

Both men ducked their heads as they entered the small house. Instantly the smell of cooking lamb stew hit his senses, and the warmth in the air was a welcomed change to the cold desert night. Inside there were several other people. A few younger women were standing over the boiling pot, periodically checking on the progress of their diner, while several men stood to the corner, quietly discussing something among themselves. Aaron gestured to him to sit at a long table in the middle of the room, and he did while his host set across from him.

"May I ask your name, stranger?"

"My name?" he had not yet had a chance to consider what name he was going to use in Egypt. "Call me Daniel."

"Call you?" Aaron raised a bushy gray eyebrow. "It is not your true name then. The name you have chosen means "God is my judge" among our people. What is it that you think He is judging you for?"

"Many grave sins," the stranger smiled sadly.

"Recognizing your sins puts you on the path to forgiveness," the old man mused. "But at least for tonight, forget your sorrow. Come, you must eat with us. You cannot venture further tonight either way. Miriam, bring supper for our guest."

A moment later the woman appeared caring two bowls of steaming hot stew and sat one before him and another in front of her brother before going back to the large pot to get her own food. She returned and sat next to Aaron, still studying the stranger, though this time it was more in curiosity than suspicion. The traveler threw back his hood, revealing long shaggy black hair and handsome features and dusted off his hands before picking up the spoon before him.

"What is happening here that has you so worried?" he asked.

"We've been promised freedom, but Pharaoh refuses to release us from bondage," the man replied. "Therefore God decreed that until lets us go, great evils will fault upon the land of Egypt. Nine have come and gone leaving great destructions in their wake, yet still Pharaoh refuses us. Now the Almighty prepares to strike with the tenth and final plague. He will descend upon Egypt and slay all the firstborn who are not protected by his mark."

"The blood on the doors," Aaron nodded. "I see." So he had correctly sensed Divine presence after all, and if what the man spoke was true, he knew who it was that was coming to Egypt this night. He realized that it became all the more urgent that he leave before his presence brought harm to these people.

"Are you a follower of the One God as well?" Aaron asked in curiosity.

The stranger considered his answer. "Yes," he finally said, "but it has been a long time since I felt his presence. I'm afraid god has forsaken me, though after everything I have done I could hardly blame Him."

"God never abandons his children," new lines crossed the old man's face as he smiled warmly at him. "Have faith, my friend, and He will come through for you, even if it's not the way you expect."

The traveler returned the smile with gratitude. Even if these people had no idea who he was, didn't know that there was no hope for one such as him, the man's words were comforting. "May I ask how you came to speak with the Almighty?"

"We didn't," this time it was the woman, Miriam, who replied. "Our younger brother, Moses, has been chosen to receive God's Word. He has gone to the palace to speak with Pharaoh one more time, but I doubt he will be met with success until morning."

"Ah," he nodded thoughtfully, then rose from his seat. "I thank you both for your hospitality, but I cannot stay. I must search for my redemption elsewhere."

"But the coming plague…" Aaron argued.

"Believe me," the man cut him off, "it will be safer for both you and me if I left. I wish your people luck and may you receive the freedom that has been denied to you."

The siblings exchanged a confused look, and Miriam looked like she was about to tell her brother that her suspicions in the stranger were justified, but Aaron spoke first. "As you wish, but allow me to show you the way out."

The two men exited the house while Miriam remained behind. Once outside again, the traveler threw his hood back over his head. "Thank you again," he said to the Hebrew.

"No need to thank me," the old man replied. "But before you go, would you do me the favor of knowing your name?"

The stranger considered his request, but just as he was about to answer, a distant role of thunder caught his attention. He looked up at the sky. All seemed clear until his eyes focused on a particularly large star. It was too bright to be natural and it was quickly growing bigger, as if it was heading towards them. Dark eyes widened for a split second before he whirled to face the man.

"Aaron, get inside!" he shouted, pushing the man back into his house without explanation.

He was just in time. Mere seconds later, the air was filled with the sound of beating powerful wings, and the gust of wind they created knocked him off his feet and sending him into the wall of the well behind him. Some stones from the top got dislodged and feel to the bottom with a loud splash. When the dust settled, he finally raised his eyes and was for a moment blinded by the heavenly light that seemed to turn night into day. Then it dissipated, and the traveler saw rows of soldiers, all bearing weapons of fire and armor of Heaven standing before him. Some drew their eyes away, not wishing to see how low one of their brightest stars had fallen, while others sneered at him in disgust. His eyes met the gaze of the figure directly before him, a man with long silver-white hair whose otherwise divine features were twisted with hatred. The traveler rose to his feet, casually dusting of his long robes.

"You keep up that look, Verchiel," he said smugly, "and your face is going to stay like that. Might be too late though."

The angel's brow twitched. He looked like he wanted to take a particularly heavy object to the man's head, something that would give the longest range of splattered blood and cause as much damage. Alas, he was loath to admit that he lacked the power or authority. His only pleasure came in knowing that the one before him lived enduring the worst punishment of any being alive.

"Your insults mean nothing to me," he snarled. "I bask in the glory of Heaven while you are reduced to living among apes."

"Ouch, that hurt," the first of the fallen pretended to wince. "Want to rephrase that, Verchiel? Your halo slopes."

Surprisingly the second-in-command of the Powers didn't bother to respond with an insult of his own. "We are here on a holy mission, Morningstar."

"Yeah, I heard. Sounds like quite a slaughter for you to look forward to. Good to know that the heavenly armor isn't left to rust. You get a good workout from Sodom and Gomorrah or maybe Babylon?"

"We are doing God's work, and you dare to mock us, blasphemer?" ire rose in Verchiel's voice, and Lucifer wondered if he should really be pressing his luck, but whether it was his enjoyment of forcing Verchiel to see his true face or some sort of masochistic tendencies, he only chuckled.

"God's work?" a slender brow rose over dark eyes. "Is that what you told the Grigori when you massacred their children?"

Verchiel's hands began to spark with magical energy as he prepared to summon a weapon of fire. As much as he would have liked to be relieved of his pain, the fallen knew that no matter how angry the Powers soldier was, what they both wished was not to be. That didn't, however, mean that Verchiel couldn't leave him with a headache form Hell as a parting gift. He mentally prepared himself for the blow.

"Silence!"

Instead of the sound of a weapon crashing against his skull, he heard the sound of a powerful voice that sounded much like the roar or a jungle cat. The echo of approaching footsteps. The murmurs of other the Powers died down as they parted. Even Verchiel took a reluctant step back, and the first of the fallen came face to face with a pair of golden eyes.

"Camael..."

* * *

_I've been witness to so many wars,  
that I'm blind to affliction.  
No ability left to remorse  
It's my faith and conviction.  
Wide awake  
in this world  
full of hate  
I unfurl_

_But I am damned  
if life itself is condemnation.  
I am immortal,  
thus my freedom is captivity._

* * *

**_Author's End Note:_** Well, there's part I for you. I have to say I really enjoyed writing Lucifer here. I love it when he gets all sarcastic with Verchiel to piss him off. Happened quite a few times in the books too as far as I remember. As I explained before, the reason this all takes place in ancient Egypt was because I started to think about the origins of Aaron's name which, of course brought me to the Biblical Aaron. Stay tuned for part II. 


	2. Part II

**_Author's Note:_** Second part is up. I'd also like to use the author's not to tell everyone on that if you don't already know, Fallen is being made into a mini-series for ABC Family that premiers on August 13th at 7 pm. They made some changes to the characters, so I also want to say that in any fic I write, I'll be sticking to the books as close as I can. Again, there's the second part of the song lyrics at the bottom of the page as well as some author's end notes. Please enjoy and review.

**Part II**

It was the kind of exhaustion one felt after a long time of doing some repetitive task and eventually growing to despise it. Camael could remember feeling like he accomplished something after every mission. He could remember returning to Heaven and knowing without a doubt that his Father was pleased, that he had done the right thing. He allowed himself to feel justified, righteous. Now all he felt was tired, nearly dreading future missions. He was not surprised at the Morningstar's comment.

"You look older, Camael," unlike when he spoke with Verchiel, there was no hint of sarcasm in his voice, nothing but quiet observation. The leader of the Powers couldn't deny that it was true. Somehow the weariness in his soul had managed to age his body.

"What are you doing here, Morningstar?" he asked sternly. "Have you come to cause trouble for those the Almighty has blessed with the gift of freedom?"

He looked more surprised then offended at the accusation. "I didn't even know what is to happen until less than an hour ago. Trust me, if I knew that I'd have the pleasure of your company," he looked at Verchiel when he said that, "I would have stayed in Greece."

"Why, you insolent…" the second-in-command steeped forward, teeth gritted in fury, but Camael blocked his path.

"Don't waste your anger on him, brother," he said calmly. "Do we not have a task to complete?"

Verchiel looked like he wanted to argue, but thought better of it. "Yes, sir," he muttered reluctantly.

"Then go do it," Camael ordered then turned to another angel at his left. "Bayleth, make sure no Hebrews are harmed this night." The soldier bowed his head in acceptance, and the Camael raised his voice to the other angels. "You all know your mission. Go forth and do as the Creator decreed. I will deal with the Morningstar."

One by one, then in greater numbers, the Powers leapt to the air and spread out in all directions until the traveler was left alone with Camael and his second-in-command on the ground. Verchiel gave him once last distrustful look before he too took flight, moving towards the palace. A beat passed before the first of the fallen spoke.

"I'd watch out for that one if I were you," he nodded his head in Verchiel's direction. "He's got quite a bit of anger in him, and those Seven Deadlies can sneak up out of the blue. I should know, right?" He gave Camael a grin, but the Powers commander remained emotionless.

"I do not worry for him," he replied, though that was not entirely true. "As of the moment, he is in God's favor. What of you, son of the morning?."

"What is it with you people and not calling me by first name?" the question bore a bit of annoyance. "I happen to like my name. My Father gave it to me."

"Still acting like a child, I see," Camael shook his head sadly. "How terribly sad that one as powerful and wise as you has been reduced to this. I pity you, Lucifer. How much pain must you be in."

"Not that I don't deserve it," the first of the fallen shrugged casually, secretly pleased to hear his name. "And aren't you here to add to it?"

"No," Camael shook his head. "The Almighty has already judged you. I have nothing further to add. My only concern is that you do not affect the events that are to take place here. I will guide you out of here to the desert. After that, I will once again blissfully forget about your existence."

"That is very considerate of you, Camael," Lucifer bowed his head graciously. "Lead the way."

* * *

The desert was much calmer than he remembered it so Lucifer didn't bother to cover his nose and mouth with a cloth to keep out the sand that was usually stirred up by sudden gusts of wind. He walked a few steps behind Camael, watching the leader of the Powers carefully. He wasn't joking when he said the man looked older. The once radiant silver hair seemed to fade to a dulling mix of gray and white falling along the lines of weariness that began to line his face. Lucifer knew full well that humans wove great and terrible tales of his ability to manipulate people by reading their hearts, but while those rumors were greatly exaggerated, there was some truth to them. He always did have a stronger sense of what others were thinking or feeling then most, and at the moment he knew that something wasn't quite right with the Powers commander.

"Would you speak to me, Camael?" the request was borne quietly.

"I have nothing to say," he didn't bother to turn.

"Come now, there must be something," Lucifer insisted. "I have been without the company of my brothers…"

"We are no longer kin," the angel threw him a sharp look over his shoulder. "You spat on us and our Father by starting the Great War."

"But you are better then I," the first of the fallen smiled sadly. "Therefore, you will take pity and offer me some conversation. I wander alone on this earth, Camael, and I abhor silence. Come. Tell me of one of your glorious missions."

Though the angel's face remained expressionless, Lucifer knew that he'd struck a nerve. Still, he knew that Camael wasn't too quick to admit his own uneasiness and was proven right when the warrior spoke.

"Two centuries ago," he sounded as if he was musing to himself rather then recounting a tale, "I was in the heart of Europe when I came across one of the deserters from the Great War, Ariel, formally of the host of Virtues. He was masquerading as a scholar, living on the edge of some human village. I had no quarrel with him at the time, but when I returned a century later, he was living within the village with a woman named Helena, and she was heavy with child."

The first of the fallen cast down his gaze, knowing full well the conclusion of such a story.

"Did you at least do them the courtesy of not having to witness each others deaths?"

Camael paused before replying. "I did."

"I'm glad to hear that," Lucifer nodded. "At least some glimmer of mercy lives on."

"What do you care for these children?" Camael questioned. "They are an unholy union between our kind and the same humans you began the Great War over. The humans you despised from the moment they were created."

"You're absolutely right," the sinner agreed. "I did hate humans, and though I now see my foully and needless jealousy, I still do not understand them the way the Lord would have us. There is still much for me to learn. But this isn't about humans or us for that matter. You just said the one word that makes all the difference. Children, Camael. Those are children you're slaughtering."

"You have not seen them!" with anger burning in his eyes the leader of the Powers stopped in his tracks to face the Morningstar. "You have not seen the destruction they wrought in the days before the Great Flood. Humanity raised their voices to Heaven and begged us to rid them of those monsters. They are completely without control, further proof that our kind was not meant to lay with mortals."

"Hey don't knock it till you try it," the other man grinned.

Camael looked revolted. "You disgust me."

He expected the Morningstar's typical sarcastic retort, but Lucifer's face suddenly grew serious, and he was looking past Camael's shoulder into the distance. The leader of the Powers turned his head in the same direction and saw what he first took to be a mirage. It turned out to be nothing more than a clay hobble, a strange thing to find in the middle of the desert, and before he could think about it, Camael saw that Lucifer turned his back to him and began to walk towards it.

"Morningstar!" the Powers commander called out, and when the fallen angel didn't respond, he reluctantly followed.

The doorway was yet again too low for them to enter properly, and when Camael ducked his head and slipped inside he saw that Lucifer was standing in a single room that made up the tiny hut. Scrolled and tablets littered the floor, along with clay bowls filled with leftovers of some sort of food. The stench about the place was almost unbearable. Then Camael saw that they were not alone. Seated cross-legged in the center of the room, was a man so old and withered that he looked as if the barest gust of wind could topple him. Raggs hung loosely on his thin frame, and his bony fingers clutched a tablet. He was chiseling something upon it, but a moment later he placed down his tools, apparently finished with his work.

"Welcome, Lucifer, son of the morning," the hermit turned one milky unseeing eye on the angels. "And welcome, Camael, leader of the Powers host. I have been waiting for you both. But," his one good eye focused on Lucifer, but the first of the fallen got the distinct feeling that he was looking through him rather than at him, and when the man spoke, it sounded like he was speaking to someone entirely different, someone not present among them in the flesh. "It is you I see in the future – you I write of now."

He turned over the tablet he was writing on and they saw words in a language older than even Hebrew. Upon closer inspection, Camael realized that it predated the Flood, though he had no idea how that was possible. " 'And the one shall come that will bring about the end f their pain, his furious struggle building a bridge between the penitent and what has been lost.' "

There was more on the tablet. Words of one who would emerge out of the union of a son of God and a daughter of man and bring forgiveness to those who have sinned against the Creator. Camael's face twisted in fury.

"Blasphemy," he hissed before kicking the tablet out of the seer's hands and bringing down his heel to crush the words upon it. He whirled to the man, who wordlessly looked up at him. "You speak herracy against the Almighty. The penalty for this is death."

The man appeared not to be bothered by his imminent demise. Instead he placed his hand over his heart and bowed his head so that shaggy silver hair cast his face into shadow. "I am honored to have met you both. Please do it quickly."

Camael was unnerved by the man's reaction, but a sword of fire sprang to life in his hands nonetheless. With one swift stroke, the hermit fell to the ground, lifeless. The Powers commander looked at his body for a moment before turning his face to the first of the fallen. Lucifer's expression was unreadable, but Camael knew that he had seen the writing on the tablet.

"Think nothing of his words, Morningstar. He was just a mad human," Camael retorted. "His insane dribble means nothing."

"There is a very fine line between insanity and honesty," Lucifer pointed out. "What if his vision was granted to him by the Malakim or some higher ranking Archangel? Gabriel, maybe?"

"He had no vision!" the Powers leader's hand sparked with heavenly fire as he whirled and struck the first of the fallen hard across the face sending him flying. Lucifer fell to the ground, breaking some of the stone tablets in the process, but he did not retaliate. At this point, there was no reasoning with Camael.

The stale air in the cave was suddenly stirred with a gust of wind from the opening, and Camael took a deep steadying breath before emerging to meet his troops. He didn't bother to look back at the dead human or the Morningstar. The Powers greeted him with a salute. He turned to his second-in-command.

"Report," he noticed that his own tone seemed harsher than usual but pushed the thought aside. "Is the mission complete?"

"It is. The Egyptian prince lays dead at the feet of their idol, Anubis," Verchiel replied triumphantly, then looked past Camael. "What of the Morningstar?"

Their leader glanced back over his shoulder and met Lucifer's gaze. Those eyes that seemed to say that he knew what was about to happen and he didn't blame the angel for it.

"Do what you will with him," Camael knew that the spilling of more blood – even the Morningstar's blood – was needless, but he was blinded by anger simply did not have the strength bring himself to care for the fallen angel's fate at the hands of his own soldiers. As he walked past the cowed of Powers that slowly converged on their prey, he heard Lucifer's voice softly calling out to him.

"My only hope for you, Camael, – my only hope for all my brothers – is that you don't become a monster like me."

Camael wanted to stop, to turn around and call his troops back, but he knew he couldn't, so he did nothing, but in the furthest corner of his mind, a thought began to stir that frightened him more than any foe he'd ever faced. It was a tiny voice that seemed to grow ever so slowly. _Do we have a right to call him 'monster'? Are we really that much better?

* * *

_

_Flying all across the highlands,  
searching for a way  
to finalize my history.  
Rising high above the mountains,  
reaching for the sky  
closer to my sanctuary._

_All my life I've been trying to die,  
reach complete segregation.  
I am ready to open my eyes  
to a new revelation._

* * *

**_Author's End Note: _**I know that the story of the seer is not the same as it is in the books but I took a bit of creative license here, but the end result is still the same. The angel, Bayleth, that Camael sent to look out for the Hebrews is the same angel that later defected from the Powers and who Verchiel killed in Ukraine in the first book. I figured since he changed later on, I should give him a less violent mission to begin with. Also, Ariel, is (at least according to my research) a real fallen angel of the order of Virtues. The main reason I used him here though is because Kamelot (my favorite band who's song I'm using in the title) has two CDs called Epica and the Black Halo which tell a Faust-like story where the two main tragic heroes are Ariel and Helena. Camael's story is loosely based on the story told about them in those two CDs. Part III coming soon to wrap things up.


	3. Part III

**_Author's Note:_** Not much of an author's note to this accept that my friend Erek and I are thinking about trying a Fallen RPG. If you're interested, please drop me a note. I'm formating the forum right now. Also in my LiveJournal there are links to two Kamelot songs. One is, of course, "Across the Highlands" and the other is "Farewell" from the CD Epica (the same CD that the Ariel and Helena story is from). As I was writing this, I realized that that the lyrics of that particular song fit Camael really well. The link to my LJ is in my profile. Well, last part of this fic is here, so please enjoy.

**Part III**

It wasn't like this was anything new for him. When one was in as much constant pain as he was, any additional torment seemed like nothing more then one extra cut on an already broken battered body. Still, the Powers' blows were enough to send him into the blissful embrace of dark oblivion.

And in this state of unconsciousness, the Morningstar saw an image that filled his heart with warmth. He walked through the unending darkness of his mind, but now there was another presence in it, a light that grew and took form. He saw a woman, and though he couldn't quite make out specific features, he knew that she was amazingly beautiful. She seemed to give off a glow, something distinctly human, and for a second, Lucifer saw her as his Father saw all of humanity: fragile yet with infinite potential for growth. He saw the potential for both good and evil and how they struggled with it everyday. Everything that the creator meant for them to see, he saw in this woman.

As he approached, Lucifer noticed that her arms were folded in front of her as if she was holding something. He blinked and saw a child cradled in her arms, whose gender he couldn't see because the baby's legs were crossed and tucked close to its body. The child cooed softly, nuzzling its face into the woman's breast, and she smiled, bending down to kiss the baby's forehead. They didn't notice Lucifer as he stood right before them, looking in wonder at both child and mother. He reached out and touched the soft mess of black baby fuzz on top of the child's head, and this time the baby turned its head and blinked a pair of wide dark brown eyes at him. The first of the fallen felt a smile spread across his face.

"Happy birthday, little one," he whispered, and though it was clearly too young to do so, the child's toothless mouth released something that sounded akin to a giggle.

In the back of his mind, Lucifer remembered that he had on occasion had prophetic dreams. It was a gift granted to the most elite of angels, and he was surprised to discover that the ability was not taken away after his expulsion from Heaven. Somehow he knew that this was the Nephilim the seer spoke of, the hope of all fallen angels. He only wished he would remember this after consciousness returned to him. That too was part of the punishment; he was granted visions of the future with no power to influence it.

Strings of pain began to tug at him, and he knew that the real world was calling him back. As much as he wanted to remain within his vision of hope with the woman and child, consciousness was slowly creeping up on him. Before the figures faded completely, he looked up at the woman.

"Thank you," he bowed his head deeply. "Thank you both."

The figures finally disappeared, and darkness engulfed him once more.

* * *

When the Morningstar opened his eyes, he expected it to be daytime and to see the hash desert sun above him. As it turned out he was only half right. It was indeed midday, but the brightness of the sun was dulled by the think sheet of a tent above him.

Confused, Lucifer sat up, groaning as the wounds inflicted upon him by the Powers reopened when his muscles and skin stretched. As surprised as he was to find himself inside the tent, he was even more surprised to see that his wounds has been treated and neatly bandaged. Before he could consider his state further, the flap of the tent was pulled open, and he saw that things did indeed see work out in an interesting way.

"Ah you are awake," the wrinkled face of the man he met the previous night in Egypt. "We did not expect you to recover so quickly. You took quite a bit of punishment, my friend."

"Yes," Lucifer was at a loss of how to explain his wounds. "I crossed paths with some former friends I did not expect to see."

"A rather rough reunion," Aaron knelt before him, handing him a bowl of water which he accepted with thanks. "Take this as well. It's not much but it will help replenish some of your strength," Lucifer frowned as he received a piece of a flat brittle sheet that he could only assume to be some sort of food. "It's dried flour and water, nothing more. I'm afraid we hadn't the time to bake proper bread before we left. Around the camp they are calling it matzah."

Lucifer nodded, remembering what was supposed to have happened in Egypt. "Then your people are free?"

"And safe," Aaron nodded. "After crossing the Red Sea, we have finally passed beyond Pharaoh's domain. We face a few days journey towards Mt. Sinai where my brother, Moses is to converse with the Almighty and receive further instructions for our people. You are welcome to travel with us, at least until you heal."

"Thank you, no," his tattered cloak lay on the ground and Lucifer grabbed it, slowly rising to his feet. "I must go. I have already caused enough trouble here. Thank you once again for your hospitality. I will not forget your kindness."

He emerged from the tent and saw the once empty desert now teemed with the families of freed slaves. People who a day ago feared for their lives under the rule of tyranny now danced and calibrated, thanking God for their freedom. He saw Miriam, Aaron's sister, singing to a group of children, who laughed and clapped their hands at her song. The first of the fallen smiled.

"I am truly happy for your people, Aaron," he looked back at the man behind him. "Indeed God's blessing goes with you." His attention was drawn away to the mountain whose peak was covered by clouds.

"I am truly happy for your people, Aaron," he looked back at the man behind him. "Indeed God's blessing goes with you." His attention was drawn away to the mountain whose peak was covered by clouds. "You say He dwells there?"

"For the moment," the man watched his face carefully. "If you seek guidance or perhaps forgiveness, you may have some luck if you seek it in that place."

Lucifer's eyes lingered on the mountain for another moment, but then he shook his head. "I am not yet ready to face Him," he admitted, "but I do believe that perhaps He heard my prayers and granted me some..." the word was so foreign to him that he had trouble saying it, "hope."

* * *

Camael sat perched atop Mt. Sinai, his wings folded neatly behind him. His presence was unknown to the people camped at the foot of the mountain since he was well hidden by the clouds and did not wish to be seen. No one but his second-in-command even knew that he was there, because he had explicitly asked his troops to be left alone to think. Verchiel had given him a dubious look but said nothing. Camael was their leader and was under no obligation to explain his decisions.

Being what he was, an angel of the host of Powers, Camael had no special gift of foresight, and until now, he hadn't wished for it. He had seen how those of his brethren who bore the burden suffered under visions of futures they could not control. The mighty Archangel Gabriel, who bore the title of Revelator, had been plagued by nightmares just before the Great War shattered the tranquility of Heaven. To know the future was to be trapped by it, and even then, visions tended to be tricky things. There was no guarantee that what one saw would be interpreted correctly. Camael was sure that if Lucifer realized the terrible consequences of his actions, he would have never raised a hand against God. There were reasons those who were gifted with foresight tended to keep what they saw to themselves.

Which brought him to the point of here and now. He was still very much angered by the human seer's words. If what he said was true, then their entire mission, all that they did in His name, was not only invalid but completely contrary to God's wishes. It was the king of thing Camael wasn't sure he was willing to accept. Still he had to admit that there was a certain elegance to the prophesy: the end to the violence and killing, and the reunification of God with his first-born children. It was a simple, beautiful vision, not to mention that Camael had long ago begun to tire of the blood shed.

Conflicted, he had sought solitude and time to think on the holy mountain, where the presence of God was particularly strong. "Heavenly Father," the angel closed his eyes. "I am in great need of guidance. Whatever be Thy will, I will do my duty. If it is Your will that I continue my present course, I shall do so, but if there is another way… Please help guide me to the path of light. Show me a sign that my hopes for peace are not in vain."

He opened his eyes and was more than a bit surprised to find himself face to face with an old man in red and blue robes. He was holding a long staff and though Camael had distinctly remembered willing himself invisible, the man looked directly at him. The angel was surprised, until he realized just who this was.

"Moses," he bowed his head, recognizing the Hebrew as someone worthy of respect.

"You are of the first-born?" the man asked. Camael nodded. "Have you come to converse with the Almighty as well?"

"I have," the Powers commander replied, "though I am uncertain that the conversation is not ill born. I fear I have lost my way."

"Does that happen with angels as well?" Moses sounded surprised. He leaned heavily on his staff then sank onto the nearest rock. "I am sorry to disturb your solitude, but I must rest."

"Of course," Camael nodded. "Yes, our kind is just as susceptible to sin as you are. We all walk under God, but sometimes we refuse to hear Him. Somewhere along the way, His voice became lost among my own doubt."

"We cannot always be told what to do," Moses smiled. "Otherwise, what would be the purpose of free will? All we can do is act within the boundaries He sets for us." He pulled out two stone tablets from underneath his cloak, and Camael was once again reminded of the seer in the hut. "These are the laws that God gave me to present to His people."

"Only ten?" the angel glanced over the words quickly. "A more than reasonable expectation."

"Yes, one would think," the Hebrew laughed, "but do you really think they will adhere to each and every one of them all the time?"

"No," in Camael's experience humans were nothing if not capricious, "but He has shown your kind infinite forgiveness."

"Then if both our races are His children," Moses reasoned. "If both are bound by Divine law, but granted free will, is it not reasonably to assume that even first-born sinners may be forgiven?" The angel's eyes widened, but before he could ask how the human knew of his troubles, Moses smiled. "The Almighty told me that you would be here and of what plagues your mind. He also said to show you these," he tapped a finger on the rim of the stone tablets, "and that you would understand."

Camael studied the words carefully and slowly. At first they appeared to be nothing more than rules of simple morality, some that he considered not even applicable to angels since their society structure was not even similar to those of humans. Then slowly, the warrior had up to now existed solely for battle realized something. Above all, even paying homage to the Creator, there was but one rule: though shall not kill.

The angel looked up at the human who bore God's message, and saw in the old man's eyes that he saw what he was supposed to. "If you wish it," Moses offered, "He has granted me the power to allow you to help your fallen brethren through whatever way you see fit. This comes at a great sacrifice, and therefore must be your own choice."

Camael took a deep breath. He knew what had to be done, and it filled his heart with sadness. He raised his face to Heaven, trying to get one last glimpse of his home or feel his Father's presence. Then his wings unfurled to their full span, and he looked straight ahead, his features turning grave and serious.

"I, Camael, leader of the host of Powers, do hereby relinquish my place in the Kingdom of Heaven. Until I atone for my sins, I shall share the fate of my fallen brethren and find atonement when they do."

"I hear your words, Camael, of the Powers," Moses' voice was loud and booming. "May your journey bear the blessing of God. As you have spoken, so it shall be."

The man raised his staff over his head and brought it down hard upon the ground at Camael's feet. There was a blinding flash of light, and though an immense momentary pain short through his body, for the first time in a long time Camael felt like his Father was genuinely proud of him.

As the initial pain faded, a million thoughts rushed through the angel's head. What would happen to the Powers now that they would be under Verchiel's command? How would they – and the fallen for that patter – react to his decision? He thought of the long journey that he faced. The world was a big place, and Camael briefly wondered if he and the Morningstar would ever cross paths again. Somehow the prospect was no longer too terrible.

* * *

_Lost in time,  
there's no place  
for my soul  
in His embrace._

_For I am damned  
if life itself is condemnation.  
I am immortal  
and I can't escape my destiny,  
bound to live eternally._

* * *

**_Author's End Note:_** Well, that's it for "Across the Highlands." I think I covered quite a bit here. The prophesy, Camael's decision to leave the Powers. Not too bad for a three part fic if I do say so myself. So now a few notes for the readers on The story of Camael's fall I actually managed to get through some research, and I read in several places that he was thrown out of Heaven by Moses' hand. Of course, I changed it a bit to fit the story, but I like that it originates from a real legend. I have yet another three part fanfic pre-Fallen coming up, though it won't feature too many of the angelic characters. For this next fic, I'll be working with Taylor, Aaron's mother. There might be a few vague links to either this story or "We are not Separate" in it but I'll see. Till next time. 


End file.
